


An Eye For Beauty

by jehannaford



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Blushing, M/M, Masturbation, Papa is corrupting people again, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Priest Kink, Smut, Voice Kink, inappropriate use of an elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehannaford/pseuds/jehannaford
Summary: Father O'Malley did not expect his visit to the art museum to turn out quite like this....
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Original Male Character
Comments: 20
Kudos: 53





	An Eye For Beauty

Father O’Malley had been enjoying his visit to the art museum before this. It was peaceful here, and calming.

Until the man had arrived, that is.

He’d sensed a presence next to him as he’d been admiring a painting, and when he glanced over, God help him, he’d been lost.

He’d never seen anyone like him before. His face was painted something like a skull, which was strange enough, but that hadn’t been the problem.

There was something horribly _sensual_ about him that he couldn’t quite place. Was it the soft black hair falling forward into his green eyes, or the trim figure in a closely-tailored suit? Was it that soft, painted mouth? The way he held himself? He couldn’t look at him without imagining the sleek body underneath his clothes, without needing to touch him, no, more, needing to be touched _by_ him–

His pants felt too tight. He flushed.

The man glanced his way. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

Had he seen him looking? Just how long had he been staring?

The room seemed too warm. He ran a finger around the inside of his clerical collar, but it didn’t help.

“He was a brilliant artist, Father. Don’t you think?”

The priest started. His voice! That deep, soft purr. It almost felt like a caress.

He swallowed. “Um. Yes. Yes, he was.”

“Although, I wonder…the subject matter is meant to be religious, yes? But I do not think the artist was in a holy frame of mind when he painted this.” He grinned.

He couldn’t disagree. It was a stunning rendition of the death of Saint Sebastian, but like many such paintings, it seemed to linger on the saint’s beauty in a way that was almost unseemly.

“You–you may have a point, Mr…?”

“I am a clergyman myself, Father. You may call me Papa.”

“You are? But–what church do you belong to?”

“Oh, never mind that now. Let’s not talk shop, eh? It’s not every day I meet a man with an eye for beauty like you.”

“I, um–” He blushed deeper.

“There is a travelling exhibit upstairs, did you know? It’s only here for another few days. Illuminated manuscripts, very finely made. Would you like to see it?”

Papa turned to face him and the priest couldn’t hold back a gasp.

He’d been wrong about his eyes. Only one of them was green. The other was white-hot fire.

“Come with me, Father, won’t you?” He’d spoken barely above a whisper. The priest felt himself nodding agreement. Helplessly, he fell into step next to him.

They got into the elevator, and the doors closed. The priest hit the button for the top floor, and they began to rise.

Papa was standing so close to him that he could feel the heat of his body. That scent that lingered around him–was it cologne? No, just–dark, somehow. A bit musky, a bit spicy.

“You’re so young,” said Papa. “Just out of seminary, I think, yes?”

He nodded.

“Such pretty hair…” he lifted a white-gloved hand and ran it lightly through the priest’s blond locks. He shivered at the touch. “You are wasted on your vows of celibacy.”

“I–”

Papa had somehow moved behind him without his realizing it. He whispered in his ear, his voice dropping into a low growl that went straight to his cock.

“Let me guess, Father. You have… _urges_ , I think, yes? You have always had them. You resist, you confess, you are absolved, but they never grow any less. They _prey_ on you.”

How did he know?

And when had the elevator stopped moving? The doors were still shut.

Papa suddenly pulled him back and held him there, pressed against the whole length of his body.

The priest felt his erection against his ass and moaned. He couldn’t help himself. 

Papa’s breath was hot next to his ear. “Maybe you are weakest at night, alone in your bed? Maybe sometimes your hands seem to move against your will while you are thinking of everything you want to do, everything you want to have done to you…”

“ _Please–-_ ” He didn’t even know what he was asking for.

Papa kissed his neck and ran his hands over his chest. He found himself leaning into his touch, melting at the feel of his mouth.

When Papa reached down and began stroking his cock through his pants it was almost too much for him. He bucked his hips against his hand, moaning, needing more, blushing so fiercely he felt he’d never stop burning.

Papa was murmuring encouragement now, _Yes, that’s it, that’s my good boy–-_

“Oh, God!”

“No, handsome. He’s not here.”

The priest shuddered, breathing hard. Papa’s voice alone might be enough to make him come, even without that sweet, insistent touch.

He heard a soft chuckle. “This is our floor, I think,” said Papa. “Here’s where you get off.”

He stroked him faster, and just as he felt the priest tense up he bit his neck hard. He felt Papa’s smile against his skin when he came, thrusting against his hand and moaning, unable to hold back even as his face was flaming red with embarrassment at what he’d done.

Papa released him. There was a quiet ping, and the elevator doors opened.

Papa had moved to stand next to him again. The priest glanced over at him. He was perfectly calm and collected. Father O’Malley, on the other hand, was flushed and sweating and painfully aware that he’d come in his pants.

Papa merely smiled and slipped something into his pocket. “Enjoy the exhibit, Father.” He left without another word.

The priest reached into his pocket and pulled out the card he’d been given. It had the address of a fine hotel nearby.

He already knew he’d see him again. There was no fighting it.

How was he ever going to get through confession after this?


End file.
